


The Armory

by theinsandoutsofcastiel



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Gun play, NSFW
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-04
Updated: 2017-10-04
Packaged: 2019-01-08 21:16:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12262248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theinsandoutsofcastiel/pseuds/theinsandoutsofcastiel
Summary: Request: May I request a fic with the prompts of Ketch and the armory? You don’t have to write it if you don’t want to, but I thought I would ask because I love your BMoL fics. You’re practically the BMoL QUEEN!





	The Armory

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: I’m not sure I’m the BMoL Queen, but thank you for saying so! I’m glad you like my BMoL fics and I hope you like this one too! Also, this was written for @spnkinkbingo.

Warnings: Language, smut, gun play, hair pulling, mention of knife play

Fic:

“Y/N, are you headed to the armory?” Ketch asks when he spots you in the hallway.

“Yes … why?” you ask suspiciously. He was dressed in his tactical gear so you knew he’d just returned from a hunt too.

“I was just headed there myself, but since you’re already on your way there, you can take this for me,” he tells you, handing you his backpack, “Do be sure to clean all of the weapons thoroughly.” You raise an eyebrow as he begins to walk away.

Dangling the backpack from your index finger, you let it slip to the floor. It lands with a loud thud and the clinking of metal. Ketch spins on his heel, shouting as he spots the bag on the floor.

“Sorry, it slipped,” you explain with a shrug, “I’m just so clumsy sometimes.” Turning away from him you can’t help but smile. Since joining the BMoL, Ketch had tried to order you around as if he were your boss. He wasn’t, of course, but growing up with two older brothers, you knew how to ignore things like this.

You can hear Ketch grumbling behind you as you saunter off to the armory. Taking a seat on one of the benches there, you pull out one of your machetes and begin cleaning the blade. You concentrate on wiping away the blood of the last vampire you’d hunted, but you don’t miss the look Ketch gives you as he passes. It was a look of anger mixed with just a hint of something else, maybe lust.

With a loud thud, Ketch sets, or rather drops, his bag onto the bench across from you. He takes off his Kevlar vest and tosses it over the bench before taking a seat next to the bag. Sighing dramatically, he gets to work on cleaning his weapons. He was clearly trying to make a scene so you blatantly ignore him and instead focus on cleaning one of your knives.

The man had a way of constantly irritating you, but something about him intrigued you all the same. As arrogant as he was, you had to admit he was attractive and something told you that his attitude was a mask he put on in order to protect himself. You let your eyes flick to him every once in a while, wondering if he was as intrigued by you as you were by him. He seems to be ignoring you as he cleans his gun, until his eyes flick up to meet yours that is. “I’m not going to shoot you, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Ketch assures you.

“If I was worried about that, this knife would be in your throat before you even got the chance to pull the trigger,” you reply, showing off your now clean knife. Ketch only smirks at your comment.

When he’s done cleaning his gun he pulls out another. Melee weapons were your specialty, but this gun was one you recognized; the colt. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Ketch asks.

“Yeah,” you answer simply as you eye the weapon in his hands. You hadn’t seen it in years and now it was here, in Ketch’s hands. How did he find the damn thing?

“Would you like to hold it?” Ketch questions. You got the feeling he was up to something. Even so, you knew what the colt could do and you wanted it out of BMoL hands. Sadly, you knew there was no way you were going to get it out of here at the moment. That didn’t mean you couldn’t try to gain Ketch’s trust and have a little fun in the meantime.

“Don’t mind if I do,” you reply. Placing your knife on the bench beside you, you stand and make your way to him before holding out your hand. Ketch doesn’t hand the weapon over. Instead, he grabs your wrist and pulls you down into his lap so that your back is pressed to his chest.

You huff as you realize what he’s doing. “You hold the gun like this,” Ketch instructs, positioning your hands on the weapon as if you’d never held a gun before. Sure, you preferred fighting hand to hand, but you knew your way around a gun. You play along anyway, letting him ‘teach’ you. If you said you weren’t enjoying this, you’d be a liar. Obviously Ketch was enjoying this as well. He shifts beneath you, his cock stirring. “Once you’ve got it aimed, you squeeze the trigger, slow and easy,” he continues.

“Thanks for the lesson,” you tell him “But I know how to handle a gun.” Pushing Ketch’s hands off of you, you stand and turn to face him. You raise the gun and point it straight at his forehead.

“Watch where you point that, Luv,” Ketch warns. He gives you a look that is without a doubt somewhere between anger and lust.

“Afraid I’ll pull the trigger?” you ask him.

“I don’t think you’re dumb enough to kill me intentionally,” Ketch replies, “Not here anyway; but you did just tell me how clumsy you could be.” No, he clearly wasn’t afraid; his cocky smirk and calm demeanor was enough to tell you that. The way he watches you though, wetting his lips when his eyes fall on your hand wrapped around the colt’s grip, you could tell this was having a different effect on him.

“This turns you on, doesn’t it?” you ask, taking a step closer, “Being held at gunpoint?” Ketch doesn’t answer verbally, but you get the confirmation you need from the growing bulge in his pants. You press the barrel of the gun to his temple, sliding it down his cheek and along his jaw before pressing it under his chin and forcing him to look up at you. “I asked you a question,” you press.

“Perhaps,” he answers, struggling to keep his calm demeanor. His pupils are blown wide with lust and his hands are wrapped around the edge of the bench, his knuckles turning white. You were within reach and he could have easily grabbed you if he wanted to; either to pull you into his lap or to remove the gun from your grasp and gain the upper hand. He chose neither and instead was struggling to keep his hands wrapped around the edge of the bench.

“Perhaps,” you copy with a chuckle. You watch the way his chest rises and falls with each heavy breath. Letting the barrel of the gun slide down his neck causes Ketch’s Adam’s apple to bob. He draws his bottom lip between his teeth as you drag the barrel of the gun down his chest. The material of his black, long sleeved shirt ripples beneath the gun. When you reach the hem of his shirt, you press the barrel of the gun beneath the material and lift it slightly. “Take it off,” you say firmly.

Ketch’s smirk returns, his eyes raking over you. “Is that a request or a demand?” he questions teasingly.

“I’ve still got a gun on you,” you remind him, “You’d be wise not to make me ask twice.”

“Yes ma'am,” he answers, the cocky look on his face never once faltering. Slowly, he reaches for the back of his shirt. Grabbing a fistful of the material, he begins pulling it up over his head. His hair becomes messy from the contact with his shirt. You stop yourself from running your hand through it as you watch him pull his sleeves from his arms. He balls the material up and discards it carelessly on the floor before he places his hands on the bench again.  

“Good boy,” you praise him. Ketch clearly doesn’t like the term. You suspected he was used to being the one in charge and doling out similar praises.

“Are you going to demand something else, or do you plan on just standing there?” Ketch asks. It’s your turn to smirk.

You move to straddle his lap, keeping the gun on him the whole time. His eyes shut tight and he groans loudly as you grind yourself down against him. Ketch’s hands quickly move up to your lower back, pulling you tighter to him. One of his hands slides up your back to the nape of your neck and tangles messily into your hair. You drape your arms over Ketch’s shoulders, the gun held lazily in your hand, the metal just resting against Ketch’s skin.  

Ketch lifts his hips, grinding himself against you, making you both groan and moan. His hand tightens in your hair and he presses his lips to yours roughly. He tastes of bourbon, probably due to a celebratory drink he’d had upon return from his hunt.

Suddenly, he tugs your hair hard enough to make you gasp as he breaks the kiss. In one swift motion, he pushes you from his lap. The only thing that keeps you from tumbling backward is Ketch grabbing your wrist. He quickly snatches the gun from your grasp and turns it on you.

“You should know better than to let your guard down, Luv,” Ketch tells you, “Now it’s your turn. Take it off, all of it.” He gestures with the gun, signaling for you to follow instructions.

You do as Ketch says, starting with your shirt. Lifting the material slowly, you reveal your skin to him inch by inch, teasing him as you go. Ketch palms himself through his pants with his free hand as you drop your shirt to the floor. You kick your shoes off as you open the button of your jeans.

Ketch mirrors your actions, opening the front of his pants. He slips his hand into his boxers, stroking himself as he watches you wiggle your hips and remove your jeans. His hand tightens around the grip of the colt. You unhook your bra and let your breasts fall from the cups as you slide the straps down your arms. Saving your panties for last, you put on a show as you push them down and step out of them. The air is cool against your wet core.

“Luv,” Ketch groans, squeezing his cock hard enough to prevent his high.

“Any other demands?” you ask innocently.

“Come here,” Ketch replies. He grabs your wrist once you’re within reach and pulls you to sit down on the bench. Keeping the gun on you, he stands. “Lay down,” he instructs. You lie down lengthwise across the bench, stretching your arms above your head and placing your legs to either side of the bench so that they’re spread wide in invitation. Ketch whispers curses under his breath at the sight of you.

Ketch moves down to the end of the bench and stands between your legs. You expect him to pull his cock from its confines, but he doesn’t. Instead, he takes hold of your hips and pulls you toward him so that your ass is right on the edge of the bench. You moan as Ketch drags the barrel of the gun along your jaw, down your throat, through the valley between your breasts. Goosebumps rise on your skin where the cold metal touches you.

Ketch’s eyes drink you in as you writhe against the bench. His free hand rests on your thigh, slowly sliding closer and closer to your core. “Ketch,” you moan as he presses the barrel of the gun to your clit.

“This turns you on, doesn’t it?” Ketch asks, mimicking your words from earlier.

You’re about to answer, but your words become a moan as Ketch runs the barrel of the gun through your damp folds. He chuckles quietly, continuing to tease you with the colt. You buck your hips in an attempt to gain more friction, but Ketch stops you. His free hand presses to your hip, holding you firmly down against the bench.

You moan his name again, looking up at him with pleading eyes. Reaching for the edges of the bench, you grasp them tightly, trying desperately to hold on to something as Ketch teases you with the idea of using the colt to being you to climax. You gasp as Ketch just barely dips the cold metal barrel of the gun inside you, the sensation different from anything you’d ever experienced.

“Oh fuck,” you moan, needing more. Ketch seems pleased with the effect he has on you. You prop yourself up as best as you can, watching as Ketch pushes the gun deeper and deeper inside you. He pulls the gun back before sinking it inside you again, the pace frustratingly slow. A loud moan escapes your lips as Ketch angles the gun so that the barrel slides against your g-spot each time he pushes the weapon inside you.

Your head tips back and your body writhes as he works you higher and higher. Pressure builds within you and a knot begins to coil in your belly. Ketch releases your hip and slides his hand up your body, grasping your breast. Your back arches, pressing your breast more firmly into his hand, and you begin lifting your hips in time with Ketch’s pace.  

“That’s it,” Ketch praises as his thumb brushes over your pebbled nipple, “Such a good girl. You’re going to cum for me, aren’t you, Luv?”

“Yes,” you moan in response, the knot in your stomach tightening. He has you teetering on the edge of orgasm. His hand leaves your breast and moves down between your legs, fingers quickly finding your clit. “Ketch,” you moan, verging on pleading. He responds quickly, picking up his pace as his thumb presses harder against your clit. “Oh, fuck, Ketch!” you shout, your walls clamping down around the hard barrel of the colt.  

“Bloody gorgeous,” Ketch whispers as he watches you come undone around the weapon. You writhe against the hard bench, fingers grasping at the edges. Your chest heaves as pleasure courses through you.

Ketch works you through your high before pulling the gun from you. The metal glistens with your juices. You watch with lust flooded eyes as Ketch brings the weapon to his lips and leaves a long lick up the barrel off the gun, tasting you on it. He hums in approval, telling you just how good you taste.

“Fuck,” you groan, watching the way his tongue curls around the barrel and imagining what it could do to you. Pushing yourself up, you sit at the edge of the bench, right in front of Ketch. You quickly tug down his pants, leaving his boxers in place.

Ketch threads his free hand into your hair as you press kisses to his stiff cock through the material. There’s a wet spot near his tip where his precum has soaked into his boxers. Ketch’s hips buck forward as you press kisses to his cloth covered tip. Slipping your fingers beneath the waistband of his boxers, you tug them down, his hard cock springing free.

You leave a long lick up the underside of his cock from base to tip. “Luv,” Ketch groans. You try to take him into your mouth, but Ketch stops you before you get the chance. He pulls your hair hard enough to tilt your head back. “I need you,” he says. You weren’t sure if he was simply telling you what he wanted, or if he was demanding it. Either way, you had no problem giving him what he needs.

Laying back against the bench, you place your heel behind his thigh and slide it higher until you reach his ass. You press your heel against him harder, pulling him closer and giving him permission to take what he needs.

Leaning forward, Ketch places the colt against your stomach, his hand resting above it. The metal is just slightly warm and what’s left of your own wetness makes it feel slick against your skin. Ketch takes hold of his cock with his free hand and lines it up with your entrance pushing into you slowly.

Fuck, he was hard, throbbing against your walls. He wouldn’t last much longer, but damn he feels good as he stretches and fills you. “Y/N,” he groans as he bottoms out inside you. The sound of him groaning your name like that makes your stomach twist. Wrapping your leg around his waist, you try to pull him even closer.

Ketch leans down over you, placing his free hand beside your head. Reaching behind him, you drag your nails down his back. Your other hand twists into his messy hair and you pull him down, pressing your lips hard against his. His hand beside your head slides father up the bench until his forearm is resting beside your head. He has you caged between his body and the bench.

“Ketch, I need you to move,” you mutter against his lips. Ketch deepens the kiss, tongue invading your mouth as he pulls his hips back and thrusts into you hard. You hum against his lips as you lift your hips, encouraging him to move faster.

Ketch takes the hint, his pace picking up. He’s rough with you, pushing you hard against the bench with each thrust. You love how he doesn’t treat you like you’re fragile. “So good,” he mumbles under his breath along with a number of curses and praises.

You lift your hips in time with his thrusts, pushing him deep inside you with each one. Before long, you can feel the knot in your stomach reforming. Ketch’s cock throbs and twitches inside you, his thrusts becoming more and more erratic. When you know he’s thoroughly lost to the feeling of fucking you, you ease the colt out of his hand.  

“Cum for me,” you demand, turning the gun on him and pressing it to his chest. The look he gives you is enough to make you come undone again. Ketch pushes himself up so that he’s standing up at the end of the bench again. He takes hold of your hips, lifting them from the bench to give himself a better angle to enter you at. You struggle to keep the colt pointed at him as his thrusts draw you closer and closer to your second high.

“Ah, Y/N, Luv, fuck,” Ketch grunts. His thrusts falter and he grunts your name loudly as he cums. Ketch’s hips buck as he spills ropes of hot cum deep inside you. His fingers dig into the skin of your hips, sure to leave bruises.

The feeling of Ketch spilling himself inside you brings you to your second high. “Ketch!” you cry out as your walls convulse around his pulsing cock. Your hands tighten around the grip of the colt and you’re careful not to squeeze the trigger.  

Ketch continues thrusting, working you both through your highs. You relax back against the bench as you begin to recover, your arms laid out lazily along the bench above your head. “Luv,” Ketch says softly, almost gently. He pulls himself from you before lowering himself over you again, his cum dripping from you. Caressing your cheek with one hand, he presses his lips to yours more gently than before.

His other hand slides up your arm. You don’t even bother trying to fight him as he eases the gun from your grip. “I’ll be needing this back,” Ketch tells you, “Cleaning to do.”

He stands, offering you his hand. You take it and he helps you up so that you’re sitting at the end of the bench again. “I bet you never knew that cleaning weapons could be so much fun,” you tease him.

Ketch hums, smirking in response. “Perhaps I should get into the habit of cleaning my weapons more often,” Ketch insinuates.  

“I still have some cleaning to do myself,” you answer, nodding toward the bag of weapons you’d left on your bench. His smirk turns into a genuine smile.

“Now that I’ve seen how well you can handle a gun, perhaps you’d like to show me what you can do with a knife,” Ketch suggests.


End file.
